The Breton and Her Dragonborn
by FreshlyFragile
Summary: The tale of Ophelia Millais is that of love and loss, of enslavement and freedom.  This is the story not often heard: the unorthodox adventures of the not-chosen one.
1. The Bandit Camp

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Skyrim. I own only the characters Ophelia Millais and Theldyn Mehra.**

_This is a story I thought of in a canon e-play with a good friend of mine, but after a period of inactivity I began writing this in order to better portray and in turn understand my characters Ophelia Millais and Theldyn Mehra better. I grew to love them more than mere role-playing characters, so I amalgamated my drabbles into one long, serious OC fanfiction, and added a great deal more to it. I hope you enjoy._

_(Rated M for violence, language, and minor sexual themes and references.)_

**Part One: The Bandit Camp**

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><p><span>Chapter One: A Fiery Dawn<span>

Oh, how I hated the first rays of sun. When they struck my face, I attempted to cover my face with my bedroll. No, not yet. I didn't want to wake just yet. As I succumbed to daylight's wishes and decided to get up, I wondered why the sun couldn't grant me even an hour of peace.

I sighed in exasperation and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes groggily. Beside me in another bedroll lay my cruel master, the chief of the bandit group that had found and captured me. Seeing that I was a disciple of Dibella, the chief had claimed me as his bedslave, thus keeping me up all night while he slept the day away. As I glared and sent mental daggers into the side of his head, he rolled over onto his side, away from me, and snored loudly.

How I hated that man. If I could, I would kill him mercilessly with my bare hands. But if I did do that, I'd be made into a pincushion by the other bandits. No, unable to run from or rebel in the bandit camp, I was trapped here as a captive prostitute. I was not allowed a single shred of dignity.

When anyone was awake, that is.

So I got up and covered my bare, bruised body with what was left of my humble dress. I looked into a nearby bucket of water to see my reflection. My long black hair, from the sheer amount of tangles and knots, had not seen a comb in weeks. My messy bangs half-covered sleep-deprived brown eyes ringed with dirt and smudged, faded kohl. I looked at the gaunt, emaciated face that was my own and held back tears. My body was going to be merely skin and bones if I didn't get a proper meal soon. Very soon. How I missed home, where I knew at the least food and sleep!

After I was somewhat presentable (as presentable as I could be, really) I stood and exited the tent. In the center of the ring of tents a small fire had already been prepared. Crouching next to the flames was one of the bandits, prodding it with a stick. He heard my bare feet crunch in the snow and looked back at me in surprise. He was a dunmer, a very strange one, for he had the bright blue eyes and braids of typical Skyrim nord. As he looked me over, his eyes sent shivers down my spine. The red eyes of the dunmer startled me already; one with blue eyes just seemed plain _wrong_ to me. After he finished examining me he turned back to the fire and tossed his stick to the flames. He acted as if I wasn't there. No surprise, really.

Nonetheless, I crept closer to the fire. Not for company, of course, but for warmth against the bitter cold of an early Skyrim winter. Once I reached a comfortable level of heat, I turned my back to the fire and hugged my knees to my chest.

"Hungry?" the dunmer said unexpectedly, not looking at me, but at the flames. To be honest, I wasn't sure if he was even talking to me. And even if he was, he would most likely do what all the other bandits did to feed me: grind it into the dirt first. Whenever it was mealtime, whatever food they didn't want they threw to me to eat like a dog, but only allowed me to eat after they had squished it into the dirt first. I felt ashamed to do it, to eat those filthy morsels, but the need to survive usually overcame my pride. But this bandit, I remembered as I placed his strange, elvish face, didn't like to play. Or laugh or talk or even act human. He stood, sat, slept, ate and fought like a machine. I doubted he had any emotions. "Are you hungry?" he repeated mechanically, this time staring me down. I didn't grace him an answer. No matter what I said, the bandit would just fling whatever scraps he felt like giving me into the mud.

But he did not. He merely shrugged at my silence and reached into his pack for a loaf of bread. He sliced off the heel with his dagger and eyed it for a moment before throwing it into the fire. I suppressed a gasp when the flames consumed the perfectly good morsel. Oh, how hungry I was... and he was throwing food into the fire! Wasting it! But no, I would not eat another meal from the ground. Do what he will, even if I had to starve, I would no longer be the entertainment of filthy bandits. I wouldn't be their dog any longer. So I stared at him coolly, daring him to do it again.

Seeing my defiance, he sliced off another piece of bread, this time placing a thin slice of goat cheese on top of it. He held it up for me to see and raised a dark, bushy eyebrow. I did nothing. He deserved nothing, after all. And the succulent meal went to the fire. This time a barely audible groan escaped my lips. Since the dunmer evidently possessed no emotion, I could not tell as to whether or not he had heard me.

He did the process twice more, each time adding something to the bread to make it more appealing and appetizing, and I became horribly angry at him. He was teasing me terribly well and we both knew it.

Finally, when he displayed a thick slice of bread with a generous chunk of cheese on it, I spat, "If you throw that in the fire, I'll smack you." The dunmer said nothing and kept his blank expression. I was fuming and quite ready to pick up a rock and beat the brains out of that pretty elf skull of his with it. Suddenly, he took a large bite out of the bread slice. Before I could lunge for a nearby stone, he held the remaining loaf and cheese wedge out to me. I didn't understand.

"Take them," the elf said, taking another bite out of his breakfast. Furious and embarrassed by his trick, I quickly snatched them away from him before he could change his mind. "Zher ya go," he said, mouth full of food, "Zhat wasn't too hahrd." His eerie blue eyes laughed at me.

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><p><span>Chapter Two: The Stone Warrior<span>

While the bandits were out raiding, they kept me in a cage. Like a _captive animal_, I was kept in a cage. And watching over me and guarding me in my cage usually was a bandit, and occasionally they left me alone.

Today, the blue-eyed dunmer was my keeper. Unlike the other bandits who usually watched over me, who got bored quickly and occasionally fell asleep, the dunmer watched my every move without fail. If I had my back to him, I would feel his gaze stab at me like daggers. And if I faced him, I would only find those eerie blue eyes bore into me. Once or twice I stared back at him in irritation, trying to make him as uncomfortable as he was making me. Even when I had to relieve myself his eyes followed me. I often felt the urge to reach through the bars of my prison and strangle him.

Finally, after two hours of being stared down, I blew up at him. "Oh, by the NINE stop looking at me!" When he didn't, I swore quite blasphemously and sat in the dirt in the corner of my cage farthest away from him. I picked up a nearby stick and began doodling in the dirt, a pastime I had discovered within my first few days or so in the bandit camp. Smiling wickedly, I drew myself wielding twin swords, killing all my bandit captors. As I sketched my imaginary victory, I began humming a song I had heard the bandits sing at the fire. I couldn't remember the words, but the melody was simple enough.

I nearly laughed as I drew the dunmer motionless on the ground along with the rest of the carnage I had wrought. I continued my humming, and quickly erased my doodles.

I nearly jumped when a rich tenor chimed in, "There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red who came riding to Whiterun from ol' Rorikstead..." I turned to see my keeper singing to my humming, and even after I fell silent he kept singing with an icy expression on his face, his eyes closed. He continued singing the song, and through the whole thing I did not move a muscle. When his comrades had sung their drinking songs, the dunmer had never joined them. If he had, his beautiful, tremulous tenor would have stuck out like a diamond among river stones. As he sang, even such a crude song as Ragnar the REd, I managed to forget where I was and what I had become.

I was back with my father in Markarth, before he had died, listening to him sing and play songs on his lyre that he had learned at the bard's college. We hadn't been wealthy, for he had been but a bard, but we had been the happiest father and daughter in all of Skyrim. After he died, however, I was left to fend for myself. Thus, I became an agent of Dibella. But as I remembered my father, all my woes of reality seemed to melt away and vanish altogether. My memories of my late father were fond ones.

When he finished, I plummeted back to reality. I was Ophelia Millais, bedslave to a bandit. I was less than nothing. My father would be ashamed.

The dunmer blinked, possibly in surprise, when I burst into tears. "What's wrong?" He said, staring at me, "Stop it." He told me to stop as if I could calm down instantly, but he soon learned that I didn't quite work that way. I only glared at him, tears flowing in rivers down my cheeks and chin. I hiccupped and sobbed uncontrollably. "Stop it." When nothing happened, he sighed and knelt by my bars. "Here. If you stop crying, I'll show you something interesting."

I scoffed.

He stared, waiting.

Slowly, I quieted myself. Tears wouldn't bring Papa back, and they wouldn't get me out of my predicament. And besides, I had nothing else to do in my cage anyway. I might as well see what the dunmer had to show me. He nodded at my obedience and turned to a table that was about four yards away. ON top of the table was an empty tankard. Then dunmer gestured to it with an open hand, palm upwards. Gradually, the tankard began to rattle and shake, and then it rocketed into the dunmer's waiting palm.

I was nothing short of amazed.

"It's called Telekinesis," he said, setting the tankard on the ground, "A mage threw himself into my axe and the spell tome was in his satchel. I read the book over and over... it took me an entire year to learn that spell." He then proceeded to knead one of his braids between his fingers, his dark cheeks obviously burning with embarrassment.

What? Bandits read? I must have said it aloud because the dunmer said while holding back a chuckle, "Well this one does." He looked at me with those bright blue eyes, which smiled and beamed at me with the pride the rest of him failed to reveal. "My name is Theldyn Mehra. Yours is Ophelia, right?"

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><p><span>Chapter Three: The Bird and the Fish<span>

Out of all the bandits, Theldyn became the only one who was ever kind to me - although in his own unusual way. Every morning he offered me a portion of his share of vittles and then volunteered to watch over me in my cage whenever the bandits raided and pillaged. After a week or two of being my keeper, he let me out of my cage. Apparently, he trusted me enough not to run away.

His mistake allowed me to creep one step closer to escape.

Although he may have seen me as more as a slave, a friend possibly, he was still a bandit in my eyes. He had killed and pillaged and raped with his comrades. I was sure nothing, no amount of kindness, could change that fact. I still hated him, even if he gave me food and freed me from my prison.

If he knew of my unconditional hatred towards him he did not show it. Then again, he didn't show much of anything... except his exceptional magical talent. He seemed more than eager to show off his arcane knowledge to me. With me as his [captive] audience, he performed a wise array of tricks to me, such as lighting the campfire with a flash of his hands and conjuring a demonic-looking battleaxe from nothing. I couldn't help being awestruck by his tricks, and often found myself applauding him loudly and enthusiastically. After realizing this I would stick my hands in my armpits as if warming them, and turn my red face away from him.

When he noticed this his eyes would sparkle with laughter and a smile would tug slightly at his thin lips. "Why hide your feelings?" he asked when I sat on my hands, refusing to clap for the trick he had probably used to kill: cloaking himself in crackling lightning.

I scowled at him. Hypocrite. "Why hide _yours_?" He said nothing to that, and let the lightning armor spell fade. Without saying a word to me, he sat on his haunches and pondered the question for a minute or two.

After a while, he said quietly, "Do you really want to know?" I shrugged. I had nothing else to do. He inhaled deeply, and sighed. "People have died because of my emotions. I don't ever want to lose myself in them again." I snorted. He had probably killed many more people when he had no emotion as well. He looked at me with his cold blue eyes, usually jubilant and dancing at the sight of me, his friend, were now filled with sadness and regret. Such thoughts swimming in my mind were drowned by waves of pity, and curiosity. He continued, "They killed my mother, you know. I can't even remember why I was angry at her, but I stormed out of our house and when I came back I found her dead. Her heart," He touched his chest with a shaking hand, "had been torn out along with her liver , eyes, and tongue."

His eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "I could've protected her and saved her, if I had been there. But since I was furious at her for some trivial thing, I left her to whatever doom she met." He toyed with one of his braids, something he did whenever he felt torn by the emotions that must've raged like a stormy sea inside of him. "They think I killed her. They think me, her fourteen-year-old bastard, killed her. And since I'm a dunmer, the people of Windhelm believe that I could've used the parts that had been taken from her in some sort of necromantic ritual. Not to mention my father had raped my nord mother and begot me. They said I had inherited my evilness from that man. So they wanted to hang me, like they had my father before I had been born.

"But I ran. And here I am, nearly twenty years later, and I am still hunted like a dog in Eastmarch. Even though I've heard the murders have continued, even after I've been gone so long, and they still believe me to be their 'Butcher'." He shook his head. "All of my neighbors back in the Gray Quarter knew me to be innocent, for I loved my mother more dearly than anything. I couldn't have possibly done it, even if I wanted to."

I pitied him. Not thinking, I blurted, "But you've butchered people since then, as a bandit! I'm sure your mother wouldn't have wanted that." I suddenly realized what I had said and wanted to kick myself. He would surely get angry at me, maybe even attack me. Frantically, I looked for something nearby to protect myself with before that happened. When I saw nothing remotely close to me, I remembered that the bandits all had a knife strapped to their right thigh, just above the knee, to use if they were disarmed. If I could just grab that when he lunged for me...

... And he did. He grabbed me by the collar of my tattered dress and glared at me. "Hold your tongue, woman!" He shook me like a ragdoll then, anger overwhelming and taking control of him. "I've lived twenty years slaughtering people! I do not need you, a camp whore, telling me what I already know!" The stony appearance he usually kept up had vanished and was replaced with one of absolute rage. I felt genuinely terrified of him then. My stupidity might just get me killed this time.

"Please... please let me go... I'm sorry! Really, really I am!" I whimpered, trying to pry his hands off of me, "Please, I didn't mean it! Let me go!"

At my pitiful whimpering, he rage flared and his hands found their way to my throat. "You didn't mean it? Of course you did! Of course you meant it!" I felt my feet lift off of the ground, and the pressure on my neck hurt more than anything I had ever experienced before. I could get no air to my lungs, and when I tried to scream all that came out was a tiny, inaudible croak. "Why wouldn't you mean it? You know as well as I my mother would be ashamed of me! Don't lie to me! Don't you DARE lie to me!" He breathed heavily, tightening his grip on my throat. I gasped for air, and around me the world started to spin.

After sputtering and gasping, I managed to squeak, "Please... pl... ease..." I tore at his hands with my nails, doing anything to be released.

He stared at me for a moment with those eerie blue eyes of his, and slowly they became the eyes of a frightened child. With a choked cry, he dropped me to the ground. I coughed and choked in dirt and air, but I was glad to be alive. After I had a sufficient amount of air in my lungs, I looked up at Theldyn. He looked at his shaking hands, wide-eyed and scared, as if they had been drenched in blood for the first time. His gaze shifted gradually from his hands, to me, and then back to his hands again. Softly, he said, "What have I become?" He covered his eyes with his hands and choked back tears. "I'm sorry, so sorry..." I had the urge to say that it was fine, but after feeling the bruises on my neck I had second thoughts. "Are you okay?" he said, wiping his eyes with a brush of his forearm.

I rubbed my aching neck and said nothing. He frowned and looked down at his feet, ashamed. "I... please forgive me." He held out his hand to help me up, but I edged away from him. I didn't want him touching me. His face twisted in pain and he did his best to hold back his tears. "Well, if it means anything..." He paused for a moment, "I want to escape this hell just as much as you." He knelt and looked into my eyes. I looked away. "We could escape together, you and I. But... you probably don't trust me." He laughed bitterly. "But think about it - do you really want to spend the rest of your miserable life as a bedslave to a bunch of thugs?" No, no I didn't. But he was a thug himself. "I could teach you magic and how to fight; we could even escape together. We wouldn't have to stick together once we're safe. You could live a new life for yourself, you know."

I was confused by his sudden change. It was most likely guilt that made him say these things. But even if they were just fluffy lies, the idea of escape enthralled me. Slowly, I managed to form a sentence. "Teaching me your fancy magics and fighting would be like teaching a fish how to fly." I don't know exactly why I lied to him... it was probably because he scared me. I added coolly, "And how do you know that after you teach me I won't turn against you and kill you?" I stretched my neck, making sure he saw the marks he had inflicted.

He flinched as if I had stricken him. He replied uncertainly, "I don't know."


	2. Escape

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Skyrim. I own only the characters Ophelia Millais and Theldyn Mehra, among other OCs.**

_Thank you to those take the time to read my little story, and also to those who are kind enough to leave comments and reviews!_

**Part Two: Escape**

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><p><span>Chapter Four: The Marque<span>

Our magic lessons never came, sadly, for when the bandits weren't raiding, I was kept always at the chief's side. Since winter was rapidly approaching, and the band had more than enough to keep them fat and drunk through the many snowy months, the only raiding was for sport or women. So we stayed at our hideout. My misery in the camp increased exponentially when the bandits discovered boredom in idleness. The often lifted my skirts, groped me, or even pulled me to their stinking faces for a sloppy kiss. Other times they would treat me like a captive animal, tossing bones for me to fetch and threatening to cut me if I didn't, and sometimes even forced me to choke down raw meat - among other things. Theldyn was usually able to save me from this humiliation by saying that as her guard, it was his responsibility to keep me 'safe and unspoiled' for the chief. Or he just used his superior strength and wit to wrest me out of their grimy paws.

But when the chief 'joined in on the fun', Theldyn could do nothing. My master was a giant nord, a full head taller and much more muscular than the elf. The chief was a big brute with the strength and cleverness of an ox. He enjoyed power and was very prideful of himself, often boasting about how he led the most feared bandit gang in all of Eastmarch. He wasn't a handsome man, but at least his scarred, brutish face wasn't nearly as ugly as his rotten personality. Never in all my seventeen years had I met someone as impulsive, sadistic, and violent a person as the chief. It was not a rare occurrence that he would rape me before the rest of the band at the most random of times, such as while eating a meal or telling a story of some grand raid. He probably did it to exhibit his power over me and establish that he was the only one who had the right to touch me besides Theldyn, who kept me 'safe and unspoiled' for him.

Oh, I could've died of shame when he did that. Afterwards, I would look to Theldyn for solace, hungering for any kind of comfort from the only person that treated me anything like a fellow human being, only to have him look away in shame. He could do nothing, and would do nothing. I despaired and prayed each night to the divines for deliverance or for me to die swiftly in the morning or in my sleep. Soon, my desperate pleas to the gods were answered. I was surprised at how I was delivered from my personal hell, for it was so unexpected and indirect was it I didn't realize it at first.

When my monthly bleeding did not come one month, I thought it was due to my emaciation. But as four weeks rolled on by, and I did not bleed, I knew with a heavy heart that my master's child grew within me. At this newfound fact, the chief was elated that I would bear him a son, he was adamant about having a son, and bragged about it to his bandits. I, on the other hand, was not so joyful. All my life I had dreamed about getting married and having a family of my own. I had never imagined my firstborn to have been begotten by a bandit chief.

Even though my child was a bandit's child, something motherly and forgiving inside of me convinced me that the child inside of me was a gift and should be cherished as such. It mattered not who the father was. A need to protect the life in my womb arose in me.

So I told the chief that if he wanted his son to survive the pregnancy, and be a healthy and strong boy, I had to be treated gently and be given proper nutrition. Also, I forbade the chief from sleeping with me, for 'the baby needed privacy'. He knew no better, so he accepted my terms without hesitation and threatened to severely punish any man who would dare violate the terms. Thus I was allowed a little more dignity and comfort about the camp. I was still a slave and treated as such.

The night after my announcement, I woke up from my peaceful slumber (oh, how I missed a good sleep!) to find Theldyn crouched beside me. He touched his pointer finger to his lips and gestured me to follow him. Without disturbing the chief, I lifted his bulky arm off of me and crept silently out of the tent with the dunmer. We snuck past the slumbering sentry and made sure to extinguish his fire and the warm embers of his dying fire. When we were far away enough from the tents, he cast a spell about our feet that would keep us from leaving footprints in the snow.

When we were out of earshot and behind a shield of trees, I asked hopefully, "Are we escaping, Theldyn?"

He shook his head. In a barely audible whisper he replied, "I may be able to hide our footsteps, Ophelia, but I can't hide our scent. Chief Herbjørn's hounds could find us and they'd find us in a heartbeat on their horses." His face grew dark with hatred, "The only way we could possibly escape is if we kill them all." I shivered then, either from the chill winter breeze or Theldyn's casual way of talking about murder. Even if I wanted to kill my captors, I don't think I could ever actually take a life. When I was part of the Forsworn, I had worked as a healer, not a fighter. I knew basic defensive and stealth maneuvers, but little else about battle.

"Then can't we release the hounds and horses?" I said, confused as to why he would want to kill the bandits when he had spent the past twenty years of his life with them and alternative routes of escape were also available.

The elf shook his head. "No, there is no other way."

"Why?" I asked, started to grow suspicious of any ulterior motives he may have in his reasoning, "What is it you're not telling me?"

He looked at me for a moment, his blue eyes begging me not to ask further. When he saw that I would not waver, he sighed and began, to my surprise, stripped off his furs. I felt my face grow red as he did so, but did not stop him. He stopped after he had removed the top half of his furs to reveal his dark chest, upon which a strange mark was carved just above his heart. It looked as if it had been carved expertly into his flesh just recently, for instead of pink scar tissue, it was red and appeared inflamed. It was a circle with its prongs spiraling about the circle like thorns, with four of the prongs angling back to almost meet each other in the center in sort of a curved cross. These four prongs divided the circle into nearly equal quadrants. Between each of the outer prongs was a Daedric letter, winding about the circle until they met up again. I started at the top and made my way around, trying to see if they spelt anything I recognized. Seht, ekem, roht, vehk, iya, tayem, yoodt, doht, ekem. They spelt out 'Servitude'. Theldyn put his furs back on.

"That thing is what keeps me in the band," he said, not even wincing as the wound began bleeding slightly with the unwanted movement. He leaned against a tree and then looked off into the distance, but not really at anything in particular. "When I first joined the band in order to pay off my bounty and prove my innocence of my mother's murder, Herbjørn first saw my - let's say prowess in battle - he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He promised me a full quarter of the loot we plundered if I would swear myself to him as his right hand man. I was only fourteen at the time, still a boy, and a foolish one at that. I accepted, lured in by the prospective gold." He tapped his chest with his finger. "So he hired a wizard to carve the marque into me twenty years ago, and to write up the document that validated the marque. Since Herbjørn has that document somewhere and thus owns my marque, he has full authority and control over me. I cannot rebel or fight against him until he is dead. But then, if he is dead, what's the point in fighting him?" He laughed bitterly. "Then, the one who killed my former master would inherit ownership of my marque. What a cruel fate I have thrown myself into..."

I had trouble swallowing what he told me. I had read of marques, but only those truly foolish and who knew nothing of magic would think them to be some strange form of contract. Yes, it was certainly a strange form of contract, but bound the one who bore the marque into whatever it specified. In Theldyn's case, he would forever be bound to serve whoever owned him until they or he died. If he disobeyed, the central prongs would converge and stop his heart. If he was obedient, the prongs would pivot back and recede into the rim of the circle. Had he really been stupid enough in his youth to unwittingly sell himself into eternal servitude? Either that or very, very desperate.

Theldyn, acknowledging my dumbstruck silence, continued. "So, I was thinking you could be my new master. I don't mind you, and you don't seem like a bad person. And I could protect you, after all, I'd have to."

"So I'd have to kill the chief?" Thinking realistically, could I do it? He was at least three heads taller than I was, and he must have twice my weight at least. Well, I could always poison him or kill him in his sleep, but even that I had my doubts about. Thinking about killing someone was easy, actually doing so was not.

"Yes." Theldyn said. He then looked in my eyes and clapped his hands onto my shoulders. "Ophelia, if you can free me from his control, I swear I will do everything in my power to protect you. I'll die if I have to."

I laughed bitterly. It wasn't because of friendship that he said that, but because of his marque. Everything he said and did for me in the past now had I new meaning... he was merely seeing if he would be more comfortable under my control. Could I not be human, even to him? Had I valued and respected him and called him my friend only to be regarded as a possible master? Something to serve mindlessly? I voiced this idea to him viciously, looking away and wiping tears away at the thought of his betrayal. I didn't want to be thought of as a thing to him and not a person as I had believed he knew I was.

"No, Ophelia," Theldyn whispered, gently touching his hand to my cheek, "you are my friend. If there is anyone I could trust with my life, it is you. You're such a kindly, wonderful woman, and no one I've ever known has been held more dearly in my heart." He abruptly pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head lightly. "Please believe me when I say that I'll protect you... not because my marque would force me to, but because I want to and would die for the chance. Because you are precious to me."

At that I broke down and wept, and Theldyn had to frantically and hastily cast a veil of silence around us to hide my racking sobs from the sleeping bandits. I clung to him as if he were my rock in a raging sea, and knew he was the only thing besides my unborn child that tied me to this life. As I cried into his chest, he held me tighter against him and whispered sweet words of comfort into my ear, trying to calm me down. At this I only cried harder, for even in his awful misery he sought to comfort me in mine, which seemed more like a luxurious haven in comparison.

"Theldyn," I managed to say through my tears, "I'll do my best to save you. Even if it takes my entire life, I swear I'll save you." We stood there for quite a while, under the trees and the aurora, before we went back to the camp. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, thinking of Theldyn.

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><p><span>Chapter Five: Freedom<span>

The chief noticed how close Theldyn was to me and immediately changed my guard. Permanently. When the dunmer confronted him about it, the reply was, to say the least, dramatic.

"Why should you care, Mehra?" he said, sharpening his blade slowly with a stone. He glared up at the dark elf with sharp grey eyes. "She's nothing to you... or should be." He tossed away the stone and sheathed his sword. He said curtly, "Tell me, dark elf, have you followed in your father's footsteps and taken something that's not yours...?" I saw Theldyn's jaw clench in anger but no more. He crouched in his usual spot, gazing at the fire he had made with his usual stoic expression. "Have you?" The chief scowled and threw his tankard at the dark elf. Its contents, a perfectly good mug of Black-Briar mead, splashed all over Theldyn. Still, the elf said nothing.

I frowned and tugged the chief's elbow. "Theldyn hasn't done anything to me." My reply from him came in the form of a slap across the mouth. The chief's anger, evidently, was now directed at me.

"Speak only when you are spoken to, wench!" I fell silent and held my smarting cheek. The chief could gut me right then and there if he wanted to; I would provoke him no further. Theldyn was on his own in this fight, but he couldn't even fight back. Quickly, I glanced at him. He was wiping droplets of mead off of his furs. Even from where I sat, I could smell the stink of the stuff on him. But as I examined him, I could see his mouth twitch ever so slightly in anger... most likely at my abuse. The chief looked between us and barked, "Mehra! Just what have you done to my woman?"

Theldyn scowled at the chief with fire in his eyes. "Nothing," he said with a sigh, managing to calm himself down. As if nothing at all happened, he squatted by the fire once more and began poking at it with a twig. With a slightly bitter tone in his voice, "Herbjørn, you know as well as I do that I could _never _lie to you even if my life depended on it."

The chief spat through his yellowed teeth a glob of blackish spittle at the back of the dunmer's head. "Face me when I'm talking to you, dark elf." Theldyn turned to the chief, his face completely devoid of any sign of anger. The chief grabbed the elf by the collar of his furs, staring into his eyes. "Tell. Me. What. You've. Done. To. Her. You. Elf. Swine." He drew his freshly sharpened blade and held it to the dunmer's throat. "I know you've done something to her, don't lie to me now."

The other bandits, entertained by the quarrel, had gathered in a ring about the chief and elf. One of them shouted to the chief, "Boss! I dun seen 'em run off into the woods together!" I blinked, thinking back of how Theldyn and I had been discreet about our secret meeting. Evidently not. They then began shouting accusations at us, some were true while others were not. "They wanna run off together!" "I heard at night, goin' at it in the woods... believe me, they're loud as a howlin' wolf! I can't believe the rest of you ain't heard 'em..." "While the rest of us is gone... they been talking about escaping together."

"Boss! I heard them schemin' in the woods about wanting to kill you an' the rest of us!"

Theldyn blanched at this, and scrambled away from the chief. It mattered not what was truth and what was lies, the chief was fuming. He believed it all. "You're not supposed to touch other people's property, you know." The chief drew his sword's twin from its sheath and slowly stepped towards Theldyn. I blinked in astonishment. Was the chief really going to fight [and kill] his comrade and servant for a camp whore he had to wrestle and drag screaming to his tent every night? If Theldyn's life weren't in danger, I would probably be making a snide comment as to how much of a brutish idiot the chief was.

Theldyn was surprised as well. He held his hands up in surrender, not wanting to and not physically able fight. Ignoring Theldyn's surrender, the chief then charged him, slashing out at the dunmer with his blades. He cried out when they opened a large red 'X' in his side, and fell groaning in agony to the dirt. I heard myself scream, and I jumped to help my friend only to be yanked back by the hair. I looked back to find a smirking bandit grasping my knotted hair in his grubby hand.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, thrashing and squirming as I tried to wrench myself away from him. Desperately, I threw my hands back behind me and groped along his thigh for the knife I knew was there. He froze for a second, confused as to why my hands were running up and down his legs. In that second I was able to snatch his knife and slash it through my hair. I whirled around and felt my newly cut hair fall to just above my shoulders, jagged and uneven. Brandishing my knife at the bandit, he slowly backed away. While the threat was temporarily gone, I snuck up behind the bandit chief and plunged my knife into his back before he could land another blow on Theldyn, its sharp edge gliding through his flesh as easily as if I had been slicing butter.

With a sickening gurgle, he fell to the ground and was still.

I stared at the chief, and then at my bloodied knife. A droplet slid down the blade and onto my shaking hand. The feel was alien to me, for I had never killed before. As I watched that little bead of blood roll down my hand, the world seemed to spin and swirl before me. I had killed a man. Hadn't he just been defending me, his property? Or, had he even loved me, thus attacking Theldyn in a jealous rage?

I remembered that even just a few days ago, I had wanted nothing more than to kill him with my own bare hands and free Theldyn. The memory of this dark desire sickened me. Although I had been with the Forsworn, I had lived among them as a healer, not a fighter. And I never thought that I would never be able to free Theldyn. Before today, I had never killed before. I didn't want to have to do it again.

But now was not the time to dwell in my sorrows. I bent over Theldyn, who tried in vain to stop the bleeding with his shaking, frantic hands. With tears in my eyes, I said quietly, "I told you I'd be the death of you." I gently moved his hands away from his wounds and whispered a prayer to Mara. Golden light spilled from my hands and soaked into the deep gashes in the dunmer's side. He let out a sigh of relief as his wounds began to heal themselves. But before I could completely close his wounds, I heard a cry behind me.

"Boss...!" one bandit managed to cry out after so long a stunned silence. I turned to him and whipped my knife in front of me in defense. The bandit scrambled for the axe at his side and pointed at me, "You're dead, bitch!" When he rushed at me, I instinctively ran towards him as well, my body remembering how to fight while my brain stood at a standstill. My aggressiveness startled the bandit, thus making him swing his axe too late. As his ax bit itself into my right shoulder, I felt the bandit run straight into my little knife, his momentum wedging the blade deep between his ribs. He looked up at me and coughed up blood, some of it spattering on my face. When he slumped over and died, the thin blade snapped cleanly off at the hilt.

He fell into the now bloody mud and slush.

The remaining bandits stared at me and their fallen comrade. They must have been wondering how such a small, pregnant Breton slave girl could have possibly taken down two large nord killing machines single-handedly. When they looked back at me, I shivered as I saw the extent of malice directed towards me. With a pained groan I pulled the axe out of my shoulder and wielded it awkwardly in my left hand. Although I was quite skilled in weaponry and two-weapon fighting, my left hand was still considerably weaker than my dominant right, now rendered useless. Also, I had used daggers when I practiced, at most swords. I had never before wielded something as heavy as an axe.

Theldyn stood up shakily, his wounds partly healed but still extant, and pulled the axe from my hand and whipped out his own. "My lady, if I may." Before I could respond, he was lashing out at the bandits, hacking away wildly at them as if he had gone berserk. The bandits had already drawn their weapons, and were able to land a few hits on him before they were mowed down by Theldyn's whirling axes.

After the bandits had fallen, he turned to me and smiled weakly. He was soaked in blood, both his own and that of the bandits. Cuts and gashes criss-crossed his body, and his furs were in ribbons along with some parts of his skin. The furs that had covered his chest had long come off, and his marque could be seen. The central prongs had receded completely into the circle, and the lines were no longer bloody and inflamed, but was now the pinkish hue of scar tissue. Having no more need to keep his hold on his axes, they dropped to the ground and sank slightly into the mushy ground.

"Ophelia," he said quietly, carefully, "I'm free!" He sank to his hands and knees, crying out from the impact and the mud entering his wounds. But the pain was soon forgotten in his elation. He fell then to his stomach and laughed giddily, grabbing handfuls of mud and snow and throwing them about as if they were precious jewels and gemstones. "I'm free, free, free!" I rushed to his side and quickly healed his wounds, which he was even more thankful for. Before I finished, however, he stopped me. "Please, let them heal by themselves. I want to keep the scars from this moment." He rolled on his back and smiled up at me, his face and body completely covered in mud. "I want to remember how I fought for my freedom, and show everyone that I fought for it."

I shook my head, not understanding his logic. "Are you sure? They could get infected if they aren't treated, with all your rolling around in the muck... and... a-and..." I looked around at the carnage we had caused and tried my best to keep my meager breakfast down. The bandits I had killed had been killed cleanly and humanely, while the ones that had the misfortune to meet Theldyn's crazed and deadly dance had been literraly hacked to pieces. Some of the corpses - no, carcasses - were quite damaged. One had an arm hacked off at the elbow while another's head was half attached to its shoulders. Yet another one had been swung at so many times he was rendered unrecognizable.

"Theldyn," I said, looking away from the bandits, "I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible."

He stood and nodded, still smiling. "Yes, yes, of course. I'll gather us some supplies and some horses right away." I hoped that Theldyn was doing this as my friend, but I could not help that he acted this way because of his marque. So with mixed feelings I stepped over the bodies and puddles of blood and snow and mud. When I crossed over the chief's body, I felt something materialize in my hand. I looked down and saw a piece of black parchment, with jagged calligraphy in a strange red ink. But as I looked at it, I knew it was not written in ink, but in Theldyn's blood. I shoved the parchment in my boot, and continued on. I knew as soon as I saw it that I hated that parchment and his marque.

I didn't want a servant, I wanted a friend.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Six: Birds of a Feather<span>

I had insisted, after we had packed our supplies, that we (by we I meant Theldyn) do something about the bodies of the bandits. Even though I had hated them for what they had done to me, I did not want their bodies to be half-devoured by carrion birds and then stumbled upon by some poor traveler. Also, the sight of their broken corpses sprawled out in pools of dirty slush and blood made the contents of my stomach come up more than once.

Seeing that I would be of no help, Theldyn piled the bodies in the center of the camp along with the spare supplies we couldn't pack. He threw chairs, tents, bedrolls, and spare crates of food onto the bodies as well. I didn't understand his intentions.

Taking care not to look at the heap, I asked, "What are you doing? You should just leave them."

He replied curtly, "We can't let another bandit group have all these supplies. Leaving an empty camp in such a strategic position is downright idiotic." I fell silent at this, and waited until he had finished doing whatever he was doing with the corpses. When I smelled smoke and felt it burn my eyes, I whirled around to see the source of it. The giant pile of bodies and paraphernalia had evidently been ignited with a flash of Theldyn's hands. It crackled and roared like a lightning storm.

For one reason or another, I was unable to look away from the blaze, and my eyes were locked on the sightless, cloudy eyes of Herbjørn. The fire licked away at his skin, eating it away slowly as if slowly enjoying a spectacular meal. As it picked away at him and the others, their pale skin was replaced with slowly blackening red-pink muscles and innards. Oh, how gruesome it was, as I watched those eyes that I had grown to know and hate ever so much melt right out of his skull. The stench from the burning corpses wafted up from the magicked flames and drifted across the camp, filling the place with an ominous, horrid feel of death. The wretched smell filled my nose and mouth even when I covered them with my hands, and overwhelmed them with the smell and taste of torched flesh. Even though nothing was in my stomach anymore, I doubled over and retched.

The world around me spun, and the colors around me no longer had shapes. Everything was as if an artist had thrown all of his oils upon the canvas in a wild rage, and the canvas before me was now just a jumbled mess of conflicting color. As my head spun and attempted to find itself again, my legs wobbled and shook as if my bones had vanished. When I finally managed to regain my balance, I was still quite woozy. I made sure to avert my eyes from the fire.

Theldyn, seeing my pitiful state, quickly made his magical fire burn brighter and hotter, until it quickly incinerated the bodies and spare supplies into nothingness. A pile of ash lay where the heap once was, and he quickly scattered it with a summoned wind.

"Is that better?" He said, walking over to me and leaning me against him. "They're gone now." I nodded dumbly. The staring faces of the dead bandits had burned themselves into my brain, and every time I blinked, their burning faces would appear. Faces black and cracked as charcoal, staring at me with an unshakeable and unconditional hate brimming from their eyeless sockets. In death, their spirits now haunted me and wished the same fate that had befallen them onto me. Their loathing seemed to seep into me and burn me from the inside out.

I buried my face into his chest and wept, for I knew that those hateful bandits would likely plague me for the rest of my life. As I cried he smoothed my jagged hair and whispered sweet, comforting things into my ear.

Before I regained my senses however, our solitude was interrupted by people I had never seen before. I could tell by their attire and the picks at their side that they were miners from the nearby Goldenrock Mine. They most likely came to investigate what had caused the great column of smoke. When they saw us, they froze. We must have been quite a startling sight, for a bloody dunmer man in bandit furs holding a sobbing woman in his arms wasn't something you saw everyday. And especially a dunmer bandit with the eyes of a Nord.

One of the miners reached for a pick at his side. Theldyn glanced at them through the corner of his eerie blue eyes and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently, he had not realized his funeral pyre would attract a crowd.

As he looked them over, the miners paled and stepped back warily. The miners looked like trapped animals under Theldyn's cool gaze. One of them suddenly turned around and ran back from whence she had come, wailing something a butcher. Others scrambled for their picks, but when their shaking hands could not find them in their panic, they followed the woman's example and fled.

I looked up at Theldyn for an explanation of this odd event. But when I saw him I knew instantly I wouldn't get one. He was looking straight ahead at where the bandits were, his eyes unblinking and large.

Oh Gods have mercy.

"They're getting the guards," Theldyn groaned. "We have to run. Now." We heard shouting, so we ran. In our flight we forgot our horses and supplies.

I was half-led, half-dragged by my wrist through trees and streams and piles of rocks that were completely alien to me. Like deer fleeing from a pack of starved wolves, we dodged and leaped over branches and brambles as we ran for our lives. Seconds blended into minutes and minutes into hours. Whether it was for a few minutes or for a few hours, I didn't know how long we ran. My lungs felt like they were going to explode, and my shoulder wound split open with a rip. I bit back a yelp and tried to keep going. I couldn't afford to slow down, even if my arm would come completely off. So I continued running, my arm swinging uselessly at my side, until I tripped over a root and fell flat on my face. I tried to push myself up to no avail. I felt like a turtle stuck on its back.

With a slightly aggravated groan, Theldyn swept me into his arms and carried me the rest of the way. I could tell his wound had reopened as well, for fresh blood had seeped through his furs and sweat spilled down his face from the effort of carrying me. After what felt like hours of running, we came across a large waterfall. On the side of the cascading water was what looked like a strange, splotch-like mark. On closer inspection it had an uncanny resemblance to Theldyn's marque.

Theldyn set me down onto my feet and weakly waved his hand to dispel whatever enchantment he had placed on the rocks to hide it, revealing a small break in the rock."Go!" he panted, "Into the cave!" He fell to his knees and caught himself with his right arm, sending a jolt of pain up from his side. From this he fell to the ground and moaned, holding a hand to his bleeding wound. He could not move. With my good arm I pulled the injured elf in with me. The entrance was small, but we managed to get through after a lot of squirming and quite a bit of tugging. Inside the cave it was as dark as pitch, and I thanked the divines for it. If the guards had chased us so far, and they hunted us, they should not think to look in a dark hole that could barely fit a large skeever. At least that is what I hoped.

Although the darkness calmed me somewhat, I held onto Theldyn desperately as I strained to hear the pounding of feet that would inevitably come. But I could not hear anything outside of the cave because of the pounding of the falls. It wasn't an overwhelming roar inside of the little cavern, even though the falls were quite large and very loud on the other side. I believed Theldyn had placed an enchantment on the cave at one time, to conceal his presence.

After a few moments of silence, Theldyn whispered to me, "Ophelia. You're hurting me. Please... please let go." As I had waited for our imminent doom, I had clung tighter and tighter to the injured elf with my good arm until I had nearly suffocated him. Embarrassed, I released him. "Thank you..." he gasped. "And... can you heal me again? My side is killing me..."

I pressed a hand to my bloody shoulder and willed it to mend until it was somewhat functional again. A scar would undoubtedly form, but that didn't matter just now. I reached out for Theldyn, who had moved somewhat, until I found the blood-soaked furs on his right side. His wound had reopened, and as I explored his body for additional injuries, I found that a deep gouge had found its way into his back. I remembered ashamedly that in my panic and I forced Theldyn through a hole that was much too small for him.

Using my remaining strength and whispering a desperate prayer to the Divines, I forced the torn muscles to stitch themselves back together a tad bit too quickly. He sighed in relief as the bleeding stopped and he could move again. Although I could speed up the healing process, it used up a large portion, if not all, of my magicka, so I could not completely mend him. He would need at least three days of rest before he should get back on his feet.

"Thank you." He touched a shaky, bloody hand to my cheek. "Thank you..." Relieved that he would be okay and more than appreciative about what he had done for me, I held his hand to my face and smiled. Joy overwhelmed me. For the moment, we were alive. We were safe. We were free. Life couldn't possibly feel better.

Suddenly, the darkness was devoured by a small little star, floating just above Theldyn. He let his hand fall after he cast the spell and laughed weakly at the light. His face was covered in sweat and dirt, but he smiled warmly when he looked at me. It was as if nothing was amiss, and nothing at all was wrong in the world. He smiled so beautifully, I almost forgot that we were injured in a cave hiding from guards that would kill us without hesitation.

But as my mind began to wander, the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up as the shouts of guards permeated the roar of the falls. I immediately ceased all movement and held my breath. Even though the falls would [hopefully] mask the sound of our labored breathing, I couldn't afford the risk. Theldyn attempted to extinguish the little star, but he hadn't the strength.

"Sonja, there's a hole over here. Think he could've hidden in it?" I heard one of the guards say.

The other guard grunted in disgust. "Look at the marks on the ground. Some stinking skeever just shoved himself in there. Look, you can see how he dragged his fat belly into it... Ralof, I could've sworn I saw him run _that_ way."

"Look, you numbskull! There's blood on the dirt! The elf had to have gone through there. Not some skeever..." I gasped then, and winced as I slapped my hand to my mouth to silence myself. But it was too late. The guards had heard.

"What was that? It sounded like a woman!" I heard a sword being drawn. "He has a hostage!" My mind was frantic, in my stupidity I had revealed that I was alive in the hole. And in the guards' mind, I was the hostage and soon-to-be victim of a psychotic mass murderer. "Release her, Butcher!" I failed to see the logic behind their threats, for I was I was in a position in which I was apparently in the hands of someone who could kill me without remorse nor hesitation. If they weren't looking to kill Theldyn on sight, I would've been more than grateful for their heroics.

"No! The butcher isn't here!" I blurted with a sob, not knowing what else to say.

"Ma'am," said one of the guards, Sonja I believe her name was, "You don't have to listen to what he says, we'll get you out of there in the blink of an eye! We'll save you from him!"

I had gotten myself stuck, and I desperately fumbled for anything that could save me and Theldyn. "No, the butcher isn't here! It's just me and my fiancé... we were captured by bandits on our way to Riften to get married. They tortured Gunnar and me... but we managed to escape. We hid here but the entrance caved in. Gunnar got hit by a rock and he's unconscious." I threw my bloody hand out of the hole and waved it as proof. "We can't get out!"

"Ophelia!" Theldyn grabbed my ankle and hissed at me, "By Oblivion, that's the stupidest and most unbelievable story I've ever heard! And besides, even if they do believe you, Gunnar's a Nord's name! Do I look like a Nord to you?" I bit my lip. In my frantic search for an alias I had said the first name that came to my mind. Theldyn didn't look anything like a Nord, even as a Nord-dunmer cross. Only his bright blue eyes betrayed his Nord blood. If the guards indeed rescued us, they would see their blue-eyed Butcher.

"Oh... well... don't worry ma'am! We'll get you out of there as soon as possible!" The guards began trying to heave the boulders from the entrance.

I swallowed nervously and looked to Theldyn for help while they toiled to 'rescue' us. He groaned and pointed weakly to the far edge of the cavern. "This used to be my secret hideout. There's a small library of spell tomes near the far end of the tavern. I know you know Restoration, but do you know anything about Illusion spells?" I knew the rudimentary spells, such as slight of hand tricks, but not much else. At what I knew I was good at, but Theldyn's complex and elaborate spells were out of my league. I was but a simple healer and physician, not a battlemage like Theldyn was. I informed him of the extent of my skills, and he sighed. "Well get moving. Those guards will probably get those rocks out of the way in a few minutes. Bring me all the books with the symbol of illusion on their covers as you can find. One of them is bound to be the one we need..."

I went to where he had pointed and found that his 'small library' was in actuality a vast collection of many, many books. Knowing his previous occupation, I did not want to know how many mages had "thrown themselves upon his axe" in order to obtain so many tomes. Not even looking at their covers or spines, I pulled an armful from the stone shelves and dropped them next to Theldyn. He scowled at what I had done and began glancing at the books one by one, paging through them. He had me return to the books thrice more until he found the one he was looking for. In this, he flipped through the pages rapidly as he read the spell over with inhuman speed. Once he was done, he snapped the book shut.

"Help me stand up." He said.

"But your wounds..."

"Damn them to Oblivion, Ophelia! Help me up!" he growled. I helped him up and leaned him against me. Wasting no time, he began drawing strange symbols in the air with his fingers, leaving a glowing trail of magic behind. When several strange runes were drawn, he wafted his hand through them neatly in a row. Suddenly, Theldyn wasn't Theldyn anymore. Leaning against me was a bloodied fair Nord man, lightly bearded and clad in a rough linen tunic. Looking at the small mountain of books, he flicked his fingers and sent them all flying back into their respective spots on the shelves. After doing this spectacular display of high-level magic, he sighed wearily and he slumped in my arms.

He looked up at me weakly and smiled. "Ophelia, here they come. Be strong for me." He closed his eyes and fell prey to his exhaustion. I held him tightly, just in case his spell-disguise broke. On more than one occasion he had saved me from certain death. So now, as the soldiers began to penetrate our stone barrier, I clutched his body close to my breast and clenched my jaw in defiance. The only way those damned guards could take Theldyn was over my dead body.

While we had frantically attempted to hide Theldyn's true identity, the soldiers had managed to move some of the boulders, but the cave had still been dark and inaccessible. Now, the last great stone was loosed out of place and rolled into the river. Two Eastmarch guards stood in the entrance, sunlight gleaming behind them and shadowing their faces.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" the one named Ralof said, removing his helm and kneeling down to me. I recoiled from his closeness and buried my face in Nord-Theldyn's hair to try and hide myself from him. "It's okay... it's okay. Don't worry, you're safe now." He looked at the man in my arms and touched his neck. His eyes widened and he barked to his companion, "We have to get this man to a healer now!"


	3. Prelude

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Skyrim. I own only the characters Ophelia Millais and Theldyn Mehra, among other OCs.**

_Sorry for my long absence! My laptop needs replacing and I've been bouncing all over the country for mission trips and annual mountain climbing expeditions with my family... etcetera etcetera... but! I'm back now, and I hope to update this story much more often. I spent quite a deal of time trying to make these chapters quite longer. In fact, they're almost long enough to be parts all in themselves. Anyway. I know it won't make up for my absence but I hope it will help a little!_

_Also, I completed my cover image for the story. Looks kind of nice, actually. Well, for an old version of Photoshop anyway. Oh, I wish I still had SAI...! Well, now you know what Ophelia and Theldyn look like. Yay!_

_Many thanks to all of you who read and a thousand thanks to those who take the time to leave a review._

* * *

><p><strong>Part Three: Prelude<strong>

Chapter Seven: Dark Waters

"No!" I shrieked, desperately trying to wrest myself out of the strong arms that held me back. "Please! He's innocent!" I jerked, pulled, and twisted to no avail; the soldiers holding me would not let go. Realizing the hopelessness of the situation, my attempts to free myself slowed and soon stopped altogether. I sagged to my knees and hung my head. There was no escape from the inevitable. My worst nightmare had become reality: the man whom I loved most was going to die.

With tear-filled eyes, I gazed up through my blood-matted hair at the platform on which he was to be executed. The sun, even on such a damnable and hellish moment, shone gaily and sent down its late summer rays upon the cheering crowd. It seemed that the rest of the world delighted at the cost of another's misery, and was not afraid to flaunt that jubilation in the most flamboyant of ways. I knelt upon the cold stone in chains and rags, as did the man at the headman's block, the others around me cheered and danced as though a great villain had been finally vanquished.

They did not know the man who was to be executed, the man I knew so very well. Did they know about his hopes, dreams, and fears? About those whom he cared about, or about who he really was? No, they knew only of the falsities and lies he had been wrongfully accused of. Whether or not he was truly innocent mattered not. Hate and bloodlust dictated his fate now. I knew with a heavy heart that these were not merciful masters and that they would stop at nothing to see his head roll. No matter how much I loved him, no matter how much I wished to take his place, the ignorant and bloodthirsty crowd would see to it that he would die.

It was summer, but everything around me was like a bitter winter night. An unshakeable darkness seemed to loom even in the bright sun, and an unbearable weight seemed to crush me to the stone beneath me. With what little strength I managed to muster, I kept my head up to see his last moments.

A silver boot kicked him to the ground and held him down at the block. An axe was raised and shone like a blazing star in the harsh sun. He turned his head towards me to gaze at me with his bright blue eyes and smile warmly as if to comfort me.

"No, please!" I screamed, ripping myself from the soldier's arms, "Don't do this!"

Then the axe fell.

"Papa!" I cried, jolting upright from my cot. For a moment or two I sat in darkness, my body drenched in sweat and tears. As I looked around me and saw that I was not in the streets of Markarth, my frantic breathing slowed. I was back in the Darkwater Crossing farmhouse, where Ralof and Sonja had taken us earlier in the day. The execution had only been a nightmare, nothing more.

A flash of light broke the darkness; a candle had been lit. The unfamiliar face of a Nord stared at me through tired, bloodshot eyes. "Ophelia," he whispered weakly, "what's wrong?" The heavily bandaged man lay in a cot not too far away from where I was. His hand lay limp upon the bedside table, an extinguished match nestled in his palm. "Are you okay?" I did not recognize him. Seeing this, he tugged at part of his bandages to reveal a pinkish, circular scar just above his heart. "It's me. Theldyn."

"Theldyn..." I let out a sigh of relief. I still wasn't used to him disguised as a Nord. "It was nothing, Theldyn. Go back to sleep. You need it." I got out of my cot and walked to put out the candle. Before I could snuff the little flame out, Theldyn grabbed my wrist. He said nothing and only kept me from extinguishing the light. I could tell he had hardly the strength to do even that, for his hand shook and it was not long at all before his grip loosened almost completely. I bit my lip. "Theldyn, please don't ask. I already feel bad for giving you so much pain. I mean, I healed you up wrong in that cave. The healer had to rip you back open just to fix what I messed up. You don't need to add my pain to your own."

Theldyn sighed and withdrew his hand, wincing as it pulled at his wounds. "If you wish," he said rather mechanically, turning his face from me to the ceiling. I half-wanted him to ask further, to see if he was genuinely worried about me or if the marque had forced him to ask about my well-being. After all, he had only ever been kind to me in the first place because he thought I would make a good master. Was he really my friend who genuinely cared about me? Or, as I suspected, was he just acting the part of my loyal servant? With the marque, I couldn't tell. I awaited something more from him, but received only silence in return.

After a minute or two of waiting hopefully for him to show any emotion or further concern, I changed the subject. "Did Verner and Annekke wake?" I asked as quietly as possible.

"No," he answered, "But I'm not surprised. There aren't many things that can wake a sleeping Nord." He turned his eyes up to me, almost accusingly. "Even a bloodcurdling scream in the dead of night."

I sighed. He wanted to know, but his marque forbade him from disobeying my order not to ask further. Alluding to it was the best he could do. I might as well tell him; there was no point being bound together for all eternity if we did not know who the other was.

Then again, would he think the same of me after learning who Ophelia Millais really was? Would he regret his decision in choosing me as his new master? Well, maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't. I would've had to tell him about myself sooner or later.

"I dreamt of my father's execution. I was there when he was beheaded. His... blood splashed all over me. It's kind of hard to forget." I could see he was surprised and felt genuinely sorry for me, but his curiosity had been peaked. He wanted to know more. "Okay. I'll tell you, but it's a long story. I'd have to start at the beginning. Are you sure you don't want to sleep? You had surgery this morning. You should really get sleep." I was answered with the very slightest of nods. It really would be quite a lengthy tale, so I pulled up chair for myself. "Well, are you familiar with the Forsworn situation in Markarth?"

"No, not really. Bandits don't really care for politics."

"Mm-kay. Until twenty years ago, the Reach was ruled by the Reachmen, Bretons who had lived in the Reach for centuries. The Nords, led by Ulfric Stormcloak, chased away and slaughtered these indigenous people and claimed Markarth for their own. However, they did not kill all of the Reachmen. Some assimilated into the new Nord society, others were imprisoned or executed. My mother and father were among the lucky few who were spared. My father Théo became a bard after escaping a dismal fate of working at the smelter, found love when he met my mother, Mhari, who worked as a barmaid in the local tavern. My father often told me he loved my mother very much, but I never knew her since she died giving birth to me.

"So my father raised me on his own in the Warrens. Oh, that's the slum for the Natives. I've heard about the Gray Quarter. That sounds positively divine compared to the stony cold of the Warrens. We got by for a few years on my father's meager earnings as a bard..." I chuckled, remembering my father's singing. "... I don't know how he managed to make any money at all. He was positively awful. Well. Anyway. One day, I woke up and my youthful father seemed to have aged centuries since the day before. He coughed up blood and he couldn't move very well. I think it was ataxia; I'm not sure. I was thirteen, old enough to become a bride. I had been dreaming of having a family of my own for some time, but with my father dreadfully ill and immobile, I couldn't dream of leaving him.

"Since I had nothing to sell and no trade of my own, I became an Agent of Dibella in order to buy tonics and potions for my father. It wasn't that uncommon for young girls to sell themselves as Agents, but I started early, the priestesses said. That made me sell well, I think. Innocence and purity... something or other. Whatever it was I probably don't have it anymore. Other Reachmen still faithful to the old ways scorned me, but I made money enough to keep my father alive for another year. I prayed to the Nine every day after I became an Agent for him to get better, and he did a little bit. I think it was after I discovered a child in my belly that my father spoke to me -"

Theldyn grabbed my hand suddenly. "What? Herbjørn's... is not your first child?"

My heart stung. "Yes and no. I lost the first child in Cidhna Mine." Theldyn's grip loosened. "She was a pretty little thing, a daughter of one of the Silver-Blood clan no less, but she would be and is much happier in Aetherius. Life is hard in the city of silver and blood. She may be happier but, well, she never saw her mother." I found myself staring at my hands. "She never opened her eyes and never took her first breath." I clenched my hands into fists. "Well, 'tis good she never had to live in that hell of a prison."

"Cidhna Mine! By Oblivion! What were you doing there?"

I looked up at him, surprised by his expression. It was actually plainly evident that he was stunned. "W-well, I'm getting to that." I cleared my throat. "My father spoke to me after a few months, and he said he was ashamed at what I had had to do. He said he had wanted a better life for me, a 'life worth living', I think. I told him a life without him was no life at all... and when I said that he cried. Then he said he didn't deserve such a wonderful daughter, and that I should just let him die. But how could I let him die? So I hushed him and told him not to worry and that everything would turn out okay. The last thing he ever said to me was 'Don't become like me.'"

"Well, things only went from bad to worse from there. A few months after my father spoke to me, soldiers came into the Warrens and said that both me and my father were to be executed for being Forsworn conspirators... by murdering eight noblemen and women in cold blood. They didn't care that he couldn't have possibly killed anyone in his condition; they needed to kill someone. And they would imprison me for being his accomplice. Apparently, it wouldn't have been decent to kill a young girl late in her pregnancy. I begged my father to tell the guards that they had the wrong person and that he was innocent, but he told them that he had done everything he had been accused of. With a smile on his face, even.

"So the guards dragged us off to the headsman's block. Before executing us, they gave us quite a thrashing and threw us in chains. My father was killed then, with a smile on his face, as if he was inviting death. It was almost immediately after the execution that they threw me into Cidhna Mine. For life." I tried to stop my tale, but my heart wouldn't have it. I now felt the need to tell Theldyn everything. "There, I discovered that Madanach, the old king of the Reach, was still alive. The imprisoned Forsworn tolerated me. When I gave birth to a dead daughter at age fourteen, Madanach and his men took pity on me and adopted me into the Forsworn. The men there began teaching me how to fight, which I relished. I hungered to avenge my father and my child, and kill every Imperial soldier that I could get my hands on. I learned the old ways, the old religion, and how much the Nords of the Reach had really oppressed my people.

"Madanach, impressed with my resolve and touched by my dedication and undying loyalty to him, allowed me to escape with him and his men. After we escaped Markarth, we went to a place called Druadach Redoubt. There, I made myself useful as a healer since I was too young and weak to fight. I became an expert of Restoration, and healed more brave Reachmen and women than I could ever count. It was after I had worked my way up the ladder that Madanach took a shine to me. I was more than honored to be noticed by him, as I was but a healer girl. He saw potential in me, he told me. So he put me under the care of the Hagravens. I was so special, he said, I could very well become one."

Theldyn stared incredulously. "Hagravens? You... becoming a hagraven? I don't understand."

"Oh. Hagravens are revered by the Forsworn. In a way, they're the Forsworn matriarchs. Looking back on it, it's quite a foolish notion... anyway. Madanach gave me to the Hagravens. I entered this perverse 'training' with two others. They were sisters, Petra and Melka. We learned more of the old ways, of sacrificing Spriggans and how to transform a warrior into a mindless fighting machine. I remember Petra and Melka taking the best fighter in the whole Redoubt, a man named Connell and granted upon him the greatest honor a man could receive from the Hags. I watched in horror as they carved out his still-beating heart and replaced it with what we called a Briarheart. It is, of sorts, a... a clump of... thorny plant material laced with magic to keep the soulless husk alive and fighting until the body is torn limb from limb." I blinked back tears, almost seeing the demented event before my eyes. The shadows in the room seemed to twist into the faces I had gotten to know in the Redoubt. People I had loved that had been made evil murderers through hate. I had been one of those people. I wanted to scream and terror and run for my life, but I was frozen in the chair, telling my story in a near trance. "I knew Connell. I had healed him once - his arm had nearly been sawed clean off - and afterwards he was dead set on courting me and drowning me in lavish gifts. He was a sweet, kind boy, but don't get me wrong, he was deadly with a blade and even more so with his magic. Not a day went by without him proclaiming his undying love for me and trying to steal a kiss from me. I didn't mind his attentions, he was a handsome lad and the best warrior in the Forsworn. Quite a catch, he would have been." I laughed, but it quickly died. "But that was before he became a Briarheart.

"Connell wasn't the same after he became a Briarheart. I don't think he even was Connell anymore. No, he wasn't even alive. After all, they never patched up his chest; there was a hollow in his chest where his briar was. He was a mindless fighting machine, a few skirmishes he returned from should've left him dead. But he came walking back with this emotionless face even when his innards were spilling out of him... he ordered me to put them back in place and send him back into battle. And I had to. He was a higher rank than I, I had to obey or he had the right to kill me. So I healed him up as best I could and sent him back into the fray. He never came back after that. After Connell died, I don't think I felt the same about the Forsworn cause. And finally, when Petra and Melka captured a travelling merchant and murdered her as a sacrifice, I saw them become Hagravens. Right before my eyes. Twisting, convulsing... I watched as their humanity fell away. The girls I had become friends with no longer existed. That was when I realized I no longer wanted to be a Forsworn. I hated the cause. I hated Madanach.

"I also realized that it had not been the Imperials that had killed my father, but the Forsworn. He had been used as a scapegoat to allow one of Madanach's outside agents to stay on the prowl. I decided I would indeed carry out my revenge... by assassinating Madanach and the Hagravens. I didn't know how I would do it, but I would do it. I had to. Then it hit me. I didn't have to kill him myself; after all, there was always the Black Sacrament. Before I could perfrom it though, Madanach found out. I'm not sure how he learned of my plot, but he did. He had me brought to him for punishment. I expected to die for my treachery. I didn't mind dying then, really, since I would see my father and daughter in Aetherius. But Madanach knew this. He was a smart man, a very smart man, and he knew that I welcomed death. So he sold me as a prostitute. I'm not sure where I was headed, but your bandit gang intercepted my delivery. You know the rest."

After I finished, I felt as if an unbearable weight had been removed from my shoulders. It felt good to finally tell someone what I had kept bottled up inside of me for so long. However, I had not planned on telling him so much. Would he hate me for being part of so many wretched things? Would he realize what a hateful person I really was, and wholly regret his choice in me? I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the worst.

But nothing ever came. Confused, I looked up to see Theldyn fast asleep. Evidently, he had fallen asleep sometime as I was relating who I really was to him. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't heard of my murderous intentions. Maybe there was still hope of him seeing me as the kind master he wanted me to be. I didn't want him to know that I had once done evil and demonic things that rivaled the wickedness of his marque. Relief washed over me and I found myself smiling joyously.

"Thank you, Theldyn," I whispered, and kissed his forehead gently. "Thank you." I pinched out the light of the candle and returned to my own bed.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Eight: Of Love and Lies<span>

Darkwater Crossing would have been a beautiful place if not for the damnable smelter that stained the world black. Nestled right next to a waterfall pool beneath the shelter of large pine trees, it seemed to be a little piece of heaven on earth. But it was not to be. The abundance of corundum caused the opening of the Goldenrock Mine, which brought forth the smelter. The freshly fallen snow had quickly become black slush from the trampling feet of the miners, and the soot fell into the pool. The world was black.

I wrapped the fur cloak Annekke had given me around my shoulders and kicked the slush off of my boots. The blackness of it all was quite depressing, and I looked to the faraway mountains at the rising sun. Five days had passed since I told Theldyn of myself. Two days had passed since the healer had gotten Theldyn walking for a bit on his own. It was nothing short of a miracle, they said. The gods were on our side, they said. Ralof and Sonja even wanted to escort us to the Temple of Mara for our wedding.

The wedding. Would Theldyn and I really have to get married to keep our heads?

I let out a sigh and reached into my boot, pulling out the black parchment. My fingers traced the Daedric lettering that spelled out Theldyn's fate. The two of us were already bound together until one of us died, marriage wouldn't change anything, right? My finger stopped on a rough sketch of Theldyn's marque. I stared at the thing, drawn in Theldyn's blood, and felt sick. Did I really have the right to keep him in a cage as my own personal slave? Then again, maybe we didn't even have to get married. Maybe Ralof and Sonja would take us to Riften and return to the Crossing. Then Theldyn and I could part ways, and live our separate lives. That's what he had suggested back at the bandit camp, hadn't he? Was that what he wanted?

"What's that you have there?"

I inhaled sharply and stuffed the contract back into my boot. "Nothing, Ralof. I was just looking at the falls." I gestured to the waterfall, still cascading even in the frigid temperatures. "Aren't they beautiful?"

He nodded and leaned against a nearby tree. "Yes, they are." He looked back to me. "Well, Miss Ophelia, I come bearing good news." I arched an eyebrow. "We can leave for Riften in a few days! Your Gunnar is recovering amazingly fast. You two can finally tie the knot." He smiled warmly and patted me on the back. "We'll get you there safe and sound, don't worry." It was obvious he expected something more cheerful from me after such 'good news', because he seemed startled when I didn't say anything. "Is something wrong? Don't you want to get married?"

I contemplated the question. Did I want to get married? Eventually, yes. To Theldyn? I wouldn't mind. But because of a lie? No. Marriage was a sacred thing to Mara, and I was going to spit in her face just to save my own hide. Even if I did end up marrying Theldyn to keep from being found out, the only reason we'd stay a couple was because we were bound by the marque. Not love. If not for the marque, he would have left me in a heartbeat to pursue his own dreams.

Tormented by my doubts, I whispered, "I'm not so sure anymore."

"What? Don't you love him? You even bear his child!"

I touched my swollen belly, laden with life, and hung my head. "The babe was not begotten by love, Ralof. I'd rather not tell you what happened in that camp."

He turned his gaze away in embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There was an awkward silence for a moment or two before Ralof tried to cheer me up. "Well, he could raise the child as his own. After all, the child shouldn't be blamed for the sins of the father." I nodded absentmindedly, wishing that Ralof would stop talking. Quickly. Theldyn, raising the child? I almost laughed. He didn't seem the fatherly type whatsoever. He probably wouldn't know how to be a father, much less to the child of the demon of a man who had been done so many despicable things to him. And that was if he stayed and honored our fake marriage. At that thought I felt what little strength in me vanish like smoke in the wind. Once again, I'd be left to fend for myself and fight against a world that was dead set against making me miserable. Theldyn would leave and I would let him live his own life. I would raise the child on my own in the cesspool of Riften, most likely living off of, once again, my arts of Dibella. That was all I was good for, wasn't it? Raising the bastard of a bandit by selling my own body for my bread and butter? Yes, that seemed about right.

I did my best to hold back bitter tears. "That would be wonderful, Ralof. But I don't think Thel... Gunnar... loves me. And certainly not the child." Before Ralof could make another attempt to console me, I whirled around and walked briskly away from him. After I was out of sight and earshot of anyone at the Crossing, I crumpled to my knees and let my cloak fall from my shoulders. A blast of cold wind hit me like a slap in the face and froze the tears on my cheeks. For a minute or two, I knelt in the snow and took a beating from the icy winter wind. I had hoped it would have woken me up from my self-pity, but it only made me feel even more alone. So, I solemnly gathered up my cloak, brushed off the snow, and stood.

I had decided. I would let Theldyn go. If he wanted to live his own life, why should I stop him? He had already lived twenty years as a slave to a bandit, he didn't need an eternity serving a whore. I would let him go with a smile; I would be happy for him and his independence.

With this newfound idea burning in my mind, I felt a smile grow. Then a laugh. Then racking sobs.

It was then I realized I was starting to love Theldyn; it would be harder than anything to let him go. But I had to. So, with a heavy heart, I turned and headed back to the Crossing.

-

"Ophelia! Ophelia, wake up!" I opened my sleepy eyes to see Sonja smiling down at me. "Today's your wedding day! We have to get you ready!" I remembered groggily that we had rented rooms at the Bee and the Barb, and that Sonja and I had shared a room.

"You're cruel, Sonja," I groaned, hugging myself tighter into the blankets, "the sun isn't even out yet."

She sighed and tore the blankets off of me. "That's the point! The wedding starts at dawn!" I laid on the straw mattress and sighed. I wished that the sun would never rise, so that I might never have to put more locks and chains on the cage I had Theldyn in. He already had one reason to have to stay with me forever, I didn't feel like I had the right to force marriage onto him. Also, I had a feeling that he was dreading this false marriage more than I knew, for on the eight hour journey on horseback to Riften he had not spoken a single word to me. What raging emotions he kept behind that stony mask of his were a mystery - and I sincerely hoped that they would stay that way. If he hated me, I would rather not know for sure.

Before I could get myself out of bed, Sonja had already created a mountain of dresses at my feet.

"Pick one!" she said with a smile, gesturing towards the great heap of gowns.

"Sonja! Where did you get all of this!" I said, stunned at the quantity and quality of the dresses. I picked one up and ran my hands on the fabric. It was such a luxurious texture I felt as though I wasn't worthy of touching it. Glorious shades of purples and blues and reds seemed to dance in the candlelight as Sonja examined them one by one, trying to pick one out. "Sonja..."

"I bought them," she said, and made a disapproving cluck of the tongue before tossing the dress she had been holding behind her. "Bah! None of these are good enough!"

"What? But these are so beautiful...!" I picked one up and traced the intricate stitching with my finger, "Any one of these is finer than any dress I have ever owned! But Sonja, why do all of this for me? We've not known each other long. All of these must have cost a small fortune...!"

Sonja smiled. "I'm more than happy to help you with your wedding. You've been through so much, Ophelia. Doing this for you is the very least I could do." She held up another one of the dresses, a relatively simple one. "Plus, a marriage lightens up the world, even if only for a little bit. What with the war going on, we need every shred of happiness to keep us all sane... Might as well make it the best it can be for you." She examined the dress some more, and then smoothed it on the bed for me to see. "How about this burgundy one? It's not too ornate, but it looks better than the rest."

I stared dumbly at the thing. It was fit for a queen, not for a lowly and deceitful peasant like me.

"I... I couldn't possibly accept it, Sonja. I have no money. I could never pay you back for all of this..."

She scoffed. "Let a soldier have her fun, and let her splurge on you! I have all this money I make and I'm never able to spend it because I'm so busy all the time! Believe me, this is the most fun I've had in ages. So don't worry about paying me back. You and Gunnar should just have lots of little ones and then invite me over to see them sometime, okay?" She smoothed any and all wrinkles out of the dress and stood back to look at it. "This one is the one, I know it! Oh, you're going to be beautiful, Ophelia!"

I was touched by her generosity, truly I was, but I felt torn. I couldn't just accept her lavish gifts and then annul the marriage as soon as she left. So many untruthful and devilish things had already been done; I didn't want to take advantage of Sonja any more than I already had. To some degree I had become friends with her while Theldyn had recovered. I felt bad enough as it was. But I couldn't just force Theldyn into honoring a false marriage for the sake of a friend. Which was more important? Friendship with a woman I'd probably never see again in my life, or good terms with the man I was already bonded to eternally? I needed to talk to him, to sort things out, and ask his opinion on all of this.

"Sonja, can I talk to Gunnar?" I said, slipping a simple dress over my shift, "I want to talk to him about something-"

Sonja shook her head vigorously and blocked my way to the door. "Don't you know it's terrible luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?" I almost laughed at this comment. It was hard to have worse than the luck Theldyn and I had had recently.

"Sonja, I don't care. Let me see him."

She laughed and herded me towards the mirror in the corner. "No, not now! You'll see him at the ceremony, don't worry." Before I could say anything more, she tore through my tangled hair with a jagged comb and poured oils and perfumes into it. She then proceeded to attack my scalp with her fingers, massaging it fiercely with her nails. I yelped occasionally and cringed as she with each rake of the comb and her hands. When she was done attempting to dig trenches into my head, she edged my eyes with fresh kohl, plucked at my eyebrows and lashes, and lightly tapped rouge onto my cheeks. Then, she stuffed me into the burgundy gown she had picked out, which was rather tight around the stomach due to my pregnancy, and placed a woven circlet of flowers upon my head. Apparently, she was finally finished with her tortuous ordeal of beautifying me. She turned me around so that I could see myself in the mirror. "You look marvelous! If I could look half as good in that dress...!"

I did not recognize the woman who stood before me in the mirror. Slowly, I reached out a hand to touch the glass, and saw her do the same. She looked like a porcelain doll, with full red lips atop youthfully smooth and unmarred skin. Her long eyelashes and kohl made her brown eyes shine like glistening stars. Her once-girlish figure, now that of a woman, was accentuated by the majestic burgundy and gold of the gown. The woman before her was no longer the girl Ophelia Millais, but a stranger I couldn't recognize. She was too beautiful to be me. To be frank, I was slightly disturbed at my stunning transformation. However, I _did_ find it slightly amusing that a Stormcloak soldier of all people had taught me, an Agent of Dibella, a lesson in beauty.

"I... is that me?" I whispered, confused. I touched my hair, my stomach, and then my cheek. The woman in the mirror followed my movements. "Are you a mage, Sonja? Did you use magic to make me beautiful?"

Once again, she laughed. "Nope. I may be a soldier, but I'm a woman, too." Then, she seemed to remember something. "Oh! I almost forgot!" She ran back to the heap of clothing and came back with a white fur cloak. "It's still winter, we don't want you getting too cold, do we?" I smiled and took the cloak. It was soft and warm; I earnestly draped it over my shoulders. I looked once again at the mirror and nearly cried. It was not Ophelia, bedslave to a bandit, who stood there, but a dignified, respectable woman. I wanted to tear off the gown and the crown of flowers. I didn't want to lie anymore, I didn't want to trick people anymore. But I kept my mouth locked into a gentle smile and averted my eyes from the reflection.

Let Sonja think today was a happy day. Let her believe Gunnar and I would live our lives out together. Let her be happy. She deserved to be after all she had done.

After a few more minutes of last minute preparations, Sonja led me out of the inn and into Riften. It was a dirty, filthy city. Built on boardwalks above the putrid canals and the sewer system appropriately named the Ratway, it stunk like a corpse that had sat in the sun too long. I hated the place. Luckily, the Temple of Mara was only a stone's throw away from the Bee and the Barb, and the wedding ceremony was about to begin.

"Dawn is breaking," said Sonja, pulling open the door for me. "Go get 'em."

With leaden feet I stepped into the temple. The man named Gunnar stood facing the shrine, not bothering to look back at his bride. The priest, Maramal, evidently thought this confusing, and stumbled on his words. "A-Ah! Here's the blushing bride now!" I wasn't blushing. If anything, it was the rouge. After what felt like an eternity of being stared at as I walked down the little aisle, I finally reached the altar at Gunnar's side. I glanced at my groom nervously. His eyes did not move from their fixated place on the wall in front of him. With a sigh, I looked up at Maramal and nodded sadly. "Well, let's begin the ceremony. It was Mara who first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to wath over us as her children. It is from her love that we first learned to love one another." I felt my heart sting as I once again stole a peek at the man at my side. He seemed to not acknowledge my presence, and continued staring forward. He did not want to be in the situation, and was doing his best not to think about it. And was it anger that kept him from looking at me? Hate? I banished these depressing thoughts from my mind and looked back up to the priest marrying us. "It is from this love that we learned that a life lived alone is no life at all." The pain in my chest grew to a terrible throbbing. Could I really let Theldyn leave? Would I be able to release him from his cage and set him free? Hearing these words, nearly identical to the thoughts I had kept suppressed deep inside of me to prevent me from having second thoughts, sprung out of me like a river rushing through a broken dam. I loved Theldyn. I didn't know why, I just did. He was special to me, and I didn't think I could live without him. If he left me, and he never returned, would I live? Or would I just wither away, pining for a man who had never loved me in the first place? I hung my head and felt a tear roll down my cheek. I couldn't let him go.

Maramal continued, "We gather here, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship." He turned to Gunnar, who hadn't turned his gaze since the beginning of the ceremony. "Gunnar, do you agree to be bound together with Ophelia, in love, now and forever?"

He turned his head towards the priest and forced a weak smile. "I do," he said mechanically, "Now and forever." As he his artificial words, I felt my heart break a little. I tried to think that he was merely acknowledging that it was a fake ceremony to save our necks, but my mind would have none of my wishful thinking, dismal as it already was.

Maramal then turned to me and asked, "Ophelia, do you agree to be bound together with Gunnar, in love, now and forever?"

I paused for a moment, my jaw hanging open in preparation for a response. I was frozen. Could I possibly end the ceremony, say I had cold feet, and couldn't go through with the marriage? Maybe then, Theldyn wouldn't have to marry me. We could go our separate ways, and all would be well. Theldyn would be free, and I would be... alone. It was not long after that when I found myself speaking the vows. "I do. Now and forever." I wanted to kick myself.

Maramal smiled and said, "Under the authority of Mara, divine of love, I declare this couple to be wed." All my life I had hungered to hear those words when I was to be wed, but now I felt only sadness. I knew with a heavy heart that I had chained Theldyn to me in one more manner, even if it was a false marriage. Even if I wasn't marrying Theldyn but his disguise, Gunnar. "Now I present the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace." He handed a ring to me and one to Gunnar. Gunnar and I turned to face one another. Before he slipped the ring onto my finger, his eyes fell upon me for the first time. They grew wide.

He was frozen, staring at me with huge bugging eyes, as was his hand just above mine. It seemed he did not recognize me either, for he stared as if he had found an unfamiliar noblewoman marrying him instead of the prostitute girl he had expected. Only when the ring slipped from his hand to the floor did he snap out of his daze. Embarrassed, he quickly retrieved the ring and slipped it on my finger. Somewhat more gracefully, I placed the ring onto his finger and smiled weakly up at my new husband. He quickly averted his eyes with a cough.

With an amused smile, the priest concluded, "May they protect you in your new life together. Mara bless."

* * *

><p><span>Chapter Nine: Release<span>

After Ralof and Sonja finally bid their goodbyes and returned to the Crossing after the wedding, Theldyn and I returned to the room we had rented at the Bee and the Barb. We did not speak a word to each other, even when we entered the privacy of our room.

"What now, Theldyn?" I asked, not daring to look up at my new husband. "What do we do now?"

He kept his silence for a moment or two before responding. "I would like to leave Skyrim as soon as possible. All of eastern Skyrim believes I am the Butcher of Windhelm; I can't stay here. Maybe I'll go to Cyrodiil." He sighed. "And, Ophelia, don't follow me."

I hadn't expected him to say it outright. I had thought he would have at least beat around the bush a little bit, maybe allude to it vaguely. After a few incomprehensible croaks escaped my throat, I managed to squeak, "Wh-what? Why?" I looked up at him with wide eyes.

"For your own safety," he answered, "I'm at the last of my magicka. I don't think I'll be able to hold up my disguise for much longer. It would be beyond dangerous for you to travel with me."

"But -!"

He placed a hand over my mouth to silence me. "No. Don't say it. I know what you're going to say. Don't say it." He removed his hand and stared me down. "Think of yourself. Think of the child you carry. The journey to Cyrodiil will be long and hard, and we'd have to cross the Jerral Mountains at the Pale Pass, and that's near Falkreath. It would take days, and crossing the pass will be hard on you." He pointed to my stomach. "Losing one child in a lifetime is hard enough, I'm sure, but there's a chance you might lose this one if you make this journey with me. And what of your own life? If you're discovered with the Butcher, you'd be considered my accomplice. You'd be killed without hesitation. How could you possibly risk that when you have so much life before you?"

"Do you remember what the priest said at the ceremony?" I said, "He said that a life lived alone is no life at all." I toyed with the ring around my finger and noticed that carvings of entwining ivy vines ran across the metal. When I looked at Theldyn's, I saw that they were indeed identical. "I'm coming with you."

With a pained expression on his face, Theldyn ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Ophelia. I... I don't understand you. With - well, the way you just are - you could have any man in the world. I'm sure of it. Why risk your life and throw away your entire future to stay with me? I'm an ex-bandit convicted of several counts of murder and necromancy and I don't have a single septim to my name."

It took me a moment to find the right words. "Theldyn. Time and time again I have fallen into more and more of life's pitfalls, until I finally thought I had hit rock bottom as Herbjørn's bedslave. I seriously thought that I would spend the rest of my life and sooner or later die in that hellish camp, at least, that was until you teased me with some bread and cheese." I almost laughed at the memory. "And then you showed me your magic, and told me about yourself. I didn't want to like you, since you were a bandit too, but you were pretty good at it. You became my friend and savior. You became the only star in my dark world, and saved me from the maddening darkness. You still are, Theldyn. Without you, well, I don't know what I would do."

He inhaled sharply. "Ophelia. You're a strong young woman. You'll find someone else. You'll be happier without me in your life."

I clutched folds of my dresses and held them so tightly my knuckles turned white. "No I won't." I said with a slightly wavering voice, "Please don't leave me."

Evidently distressed at what I was saying, he buried his head in his hands and hissed, "Let me go, Ophelia. Don't come with me."

"But-"

"Please!" he shouted suddenly, shooting a glare at me up between his fingers.

I knew this was the way it was going to be. I knew he wanted to leave. In fact, I had anticipated it. But why did it still hurt as if I hadn't? Keeping back tears, I said, "Well. Then tell me the real reason why you want to go alone."

He sighed. "Will you let me go if I tell you?"

I bit my lip. Could I? Could I really let him go? After all, I had the contract in my boot. If I wanted, I could always force him to stay. But could I do that either? I doubted I could. I didn't want to force anything on him; I just wanted him to stay with me on his accord. "I..." I said weakly, knowing there was no way I could convince him to stay with me, "I promise."

He straightened his back and crossed his arms. "I'm afraid to get closer to you," he said frankly, "this fake marriage crosses the line as is." He removed the ring and set it on the table beside him. I stared at it and felt my heart shatter. "Coming with me to Cyrodiil, staying husband and wife, well... I might grow to love you, Ophelia."

"That's a bad thing?" A hot tear rolled down my cheek.

"Well, put it this way. Sure, we might have a few happy years, but what of afterwards? If you died, would I be able to follow you into death? No, the marque forbids me from killing myself. I would spend the rest of my days without the woman I loved, and spend every waking moment wanting to see you or hear your voice again. I'm an elf; I live at least two hundred more years than you do. If I loved you... I wouldn't be able to live without you. That would be two hundred years of withering away, pining for you. Not pleasant in the long run. Does that make more sense?"

Wiping the tears off of my face, I nodded weakly. "I-I'm sorry, Theldyn. I just don't want to be alone anymore..." I sniffed and rubbed my swollen eyes. Kohl and rouge ran down my cheeks and I probably looked very frightening. At this I laughed a little bit, trying to keep myself from crying harder. "Th-Theldyn. Can I ask you a favor, before I let you go?"

"Of course." he replied.

I rubbed off my smeared make-up with the inside of my sleeve and looked directly at him. Then, quite impulsively, I reached out and picked up the ring Theldyn had removed with one hand and with the other snatched Theldyn's hand. I slipped the ring back onto his finger and smiled weakly at him. "Keep this to remember me by?"

He shook his head and chuckled. "I couldn't possibly forget about you," he pointed to his heart, "after all-"

"Something besides the marque," I said, holding his hand, "I don't want you to remember as your master. I want you to remember me as Ophelia Millais. Does that make more sense?" He nodded and touched the ring. A barely visible smile grew as he traced the ivy engraving. Abruptly, he withdrew his hand and quickly looked out the window.

"It's late," he said, "we should get to sleep." He looked about our little room and with a groan realized it had only one bed. "I hate those guards," he grunted.

"I'll take the floor," I said.

"No, you're pregnant and the floor is cold. I'll sleep on the floor."

"You have a long journey ahead of you," I said, "you need rest."

We bickered about it for a while before Theldyn threw his hands in the air and said something in dunmeri. From the way he said it, I could tell it was something along the lines of a curse word. He crawled into the far side of the bed and huddled himself against the wall, leaving more than enough room for me. I laughed a bit at his exasperation. Taking great care not to invade his space, I got under the blankets and extinguished the candle.

The two of us laid in our spots on the bed, trying our best not to touch one another, but found that neither of us could get enough blanket to keep the both of us adequately warm. And so the space between us got smaller and smaller, until we were back to back, feeling each other's violent shivering running down our spines. It was not long before we flipped over held each other tightly to keep warm, the blankets covering us completely.

As he held me in his arms, I felt my heart beat faster and faster. Feeling his warmth against me, feeling his breath on my face, and his heart beat with mine... I never wanted him to let me go. I nestled myself into his chest and closed my eyes, savoring every moment I had with him. I wished I could stay with him like this forever.

I must've dozed off in his arms, for awareness came back to me when Theldyn shifted and broke away from me. He sat up and did his best not to disturb me as he got out of bed. I heard him rummage through what things Ralof and Sonja had been gracious enough to give us. When he was finished packing his supplies, I heard the door creak open.

"Theldyn, I love you." I whispered just loud enough so he would be able to hear.

He was silent for a moment or two. "Don't." he said simply, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p><em>Yay! Finally, more Breton and Her Dragonborn! So sorry for the wait... my laptop no longer can connect to the internet and cannot recognize its own USB ports. So this was trapped on my laptop for the longest time...! Only after I dismantled my laptop and put it back together again did the USB ports finally work again, and I could transfer all of this...<em>

_But you don't want to hear about my technical excuses, do you?_

_Anyway. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you'll enjoy the next chapters too... I can't wait to write them... they'll be so exciting!**  
><strong>_

_Once again, many thanks to all of you who read and a thousand thanks to those who take the time to leave a review! I love you all!_


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